


cut through all the noise

by foxwatson



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:44:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9280409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwatson/pseuds/foxwatson
Summary: Holmes finds herself overwhelmed in a restaurant. The good news is that Watson arrives just in time to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> One of the fics I wrote for a friend on tumblr as a holiday present! More ritchie verse femlock, because I love it. Title credit to Bastille.

The idea had been a perfectly normal dinner. When Sherlock went back over it in her head, over and over, she would continue to fail to see what had gone wrong. The day hadn’t been strenuous, she’d spent all her time at Baker Street. Watson had been out most of the day, perhaps that was true, and perhaps eating at The Royale after everything that had happened there was... poor decision making on her own part. However, still Sherlock could not fully conceptualize how one or two small oversights such as these had led to what in truth occurred.

It was a holiday of some sort - not Watson’s birthday, she remembered that without fail. Some other event she felt perhaps they should celebrate. She had asked Jane in the morning, before they had left bed. Jane had patients to see to, expecting mothers, and she had to spend her day visiting. They had agreed to meet at the restaurant at six. Six on the dot. Sherlock was never late. Jane nearly always was - not through any fault of her own, always poor traffic or some complication with a patient.

In time to arrive at The Royale before six, Sherlock had dressed herself meticulously. Corset, bloomers, all appropriate undergarments. A dress. Only for Jane, because she knew Jane felt more comfortable when they went out as proper ladies. She even went to the trouble of pinning in the long braid of hair which she had cut off years ago and then kept. It could make her hair appear to be a nearly respectable style with the right amount of work.

Perhaps that was the trouble that started it all. The pins used to keep her hair in order. They poked at her scalp no matter what she did, and she couldn’t seem to find an arrangement that wasn’t uncomfortable. That, plus the discomfort of her dress, all of that meant she was already sitting stiffly in the brougham on the way to dinner. She was left to her discomfort and her own thoughts for some time, closing her eyes to better take in all the sounds and smells of the city as she rode. Bakery. Butcher’s. The unpleasant drifting scents of the Thames and the rest of the city. There were a few tell-tale bumps in the cobblestones beneath the wheels and Sherlock knew they were approaching the restaurant. She fidgeted with her gloves and prepared herself for exiting the carriage.

The door was opened, and Sherlock stepped down, offering the driver her money before walking inside. She was seated, and again left to her own devices.

She had at least fifteen minutes before Watson would arrive. Perhaps even as long as thirty.

After having checked the time, she looked about herself for something to focus on, something to amuse her as she waited. Instead of a point of focus, she found herself drifting from person to person lined up across her vision. Adulterer. Pickpocket. Doctor. Banker, sleeping with the adulterer, his wife beside him, he was muttering something, something about the wait time of the food. The clinks of forks onplates, the rubbing of cloth at silver and glass, the click of an opened pocketwatch. She heard it all. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on Watson.

Unfortunately, it made her all the more aware of where she was sitting. It was the same table she had sat at with Jane and her fiancé, the night she’d had wine thrown in her face, the night that never seemed far from her most unpleasant thoughts. Mr. Morstan had teased her that night, had watched her discomfort and smiled at Jane.

Sherlock opened her eyes again to banish the memory and her senses came flooding back to her. Steak two tables over using the wrong knife to cut it scraping at the plate terrible sound someone nearly choking on their wine right behind her the sound of obnoxious laughter, click, clink, the constant murmur of each table, separately and then all at once, she could parse out each conversation, but only for a moment, she couldn’t focus, she couldn’t focus.

“Holmes!”

With a sharp inhale she found herself looking at Watson, who was seated right next to her. Everything was still too loud. Her hair pins poking at her, her corset chafing, the lights too bright. “Watson...”

“Right. Let’s get you out of here.”

It required no words. Watson took her arm and pulled her to standing, guided her out of the restaurant, barely touching her, aware it might only make things worse until the most distracting sensations were gone. Before she could parse things out, they were in a brougham, clearly headed back towards Baker Street. Instead of letting her lose track again, Watson had pulled her into the seat next to her, instead of on the bench opposite. Watson gently encouraged her to close her eyes and put hands over her ears. It didn’t block everything, but it helped. She wanted the damn hairpins out, wanted to wear looser clothing, to only feel the warmth of Jane’s touch, but that had to wait until they were back at Baker Street. That was something Sherlock could understand even in her pitiful state.

The ride felt long, but soon they were back, and Jane guided her into their rooms. She took down Sherlock’s hair, unlaced her dress and corset, slowly got her down to just her chemise, lose and simple enough it didn’t scratch or press. Then, still, Jane got that off her too and sat her down on the bed. The bedding had been taken care of long ago so that it was softer, unobtrusive. Sherlock laid down, and after just a moment Jane laid down with her, pulling her close so she could press her face to Jane’s skin and block out everything else for as long as she needed to.

“My dear Holmes. I never should have kept you waiting at that terrible place. I should have thought, even when you suggested it.”

Jane’s voice was quiet, and Sherlock could only hum in response, and shake her head a little. Still she was grateful to Jane for speaking. Gave her something specific to focus on. To listen to.

“I know, I know. You’re thinking of course I wouldn’t know anything if you didn’t. But you have to admit by now that you’re infinitely terrible at taking care of yourself. That’s what I’m here for. And at the moment I like to think I’m doing an alright job, but I shouldn’t have let you plan such a taxing outing. Dressing like that. Going to the Royale of all places. We should really never go back there.”

Jane spoke slowly, so finally Sherlock managed a small smile against her skin, and muttered, “Agreed.”

They were both quiet for a bit, the heavy curtains blocking out the light and noise, only the crackling fire providing a backdrop.

“I am... sorry, about dinner. Nonetheless. You deserve to be taken out.”

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” Jane replied, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Mrs. Hudson can bring us up something for dinner. I’ll have a much better time here out of the public eye with you. A nice dinner is nice once in a while, but you don’t need to feel like it’s a requirement.”

Sherlock hummed again, and smiled. “You are perfect, my Watson.”

Jane laughed, and it was exquisite. “Well. I do my best. I am meant to be your doctor after all.”

There was another press of lips to her forehead, and exhausted, Sherlock felt herself begin to drift into sleep. She was confident that Jane would wake her in time for dinner.


End file.
